Almost Over
by Soul Stealer 2K4
Summary: A pair of glowing green orbs stares widely at me. His eyes, I know his eyes anywhere. But what’s he doing here? T rating, may change to M, just to be safe XD
1. Almost Over

**Almost Over…**

I took another sip from the glass in my hand. A cold and fruity sensation burns along the inside of my throat.

My cheeks feel warm as my head dips up and down in a soft manner. My hair is an absolute mess, my fingers catch on the many tangles that knotted one strand to another.

A small pain forms at the bridge of my nose and my vision blurs. I glance at my arm. No, the scars haven't healed; upon closer inspection it appears that many of them have reopened. My, that's a lot of ketchup to be running out of one tiny scratch.

I don't even eat ketchup, so how is it my veins are full of the stuff? Oh well. One more swig of the sweet, sweet juice in the crystal chalice and that's how many bottles?

Let's see, uh, there are 3 on the desk, one staring straight at me from the PC monitor and a fifth sticking it's tongue out at me from by the door.

**Hey!** Damn cheek! I'll show that lump of blown glass whose boss! I get up from my swivel chair, and promptly fall over, banging my head in the process.

Ow! Blast that dresser! I'll get my baseball bat from the closetand rough it up a bit, but first, that damn bottle.

I grab it by the neck, and stare at it, but the ketchup from my arm has rubbed its face off. At least it's not blowing raspberries at me anymore, stupid piece of crap.

I look closer to double check that it's really not pulling faces. Nope, _Lambrusco _appears to be behaving itself now.

Jeez, talk about having no respect. I liberate the damn thing from my father's 'special' cabinet and it pays me back by tormenting me. Why does that seem so familiar?

Well, the others were freed from that same wooden form of solitary confinement. But _Chardonnay _and _Bailey's _didn't mock me like that!

Eh, never mind. It's over now, but my arm is still leaking. I shout at Blade from my seated position on the carpet, also covered in the condiment dripping from my wrist.

**You stupid razor! Why didn't you tell me this would happen? **

I gestured toward my forearm for dramatic effect, but it remained silent. I crawled over the drawer which it sat in and pulled it open to find it still dripping with my own ketchup.

**Don't give _me _the silent treatment! I should break you in two for this!** Everyday this happens, but it never apologizes. It's such an ignorant sod.

Brrr, the temperature in this room just shot down by, like, twenty degrees! I rub my shoulders to warm them up and suddenly realize why it's gotten so cold.

Speaking of ignorant sods…

A pair of glowing green orbs stares widely at me. His eyes, I know his eyes anywhere. But what's he doing here?

I glare at _Lambrusco _lying face down on the floor.

**You called him didn't you? **

It lay there and didn't say a thing.

Cold, gloved hands clasp either side of my face and moves it until it is looking at him again. Ah, head rush! His mouth is wide and remarks hurtful things. Hurtful, yet fearful, things.

I cannot hear what exactly. One of his hands takes my cell phone as he worriedly yells things into it, while the other has wandered to my arm.

**It wasn't me,** I protest, **Blade did it!** He nods, but I don't think he believes me. A stream of lemonade falls from the ghostly optics that stares so intently at my own human ones.

I scoop some of the lemonade onto my finger to see how it tastes. Ugh, it is so bitter and salty.

His whole body is shaking and in a dual flash of light, his eyes - once green - are now blue. A cold, icy shade of blue that reminds me of the label displaying _Lambrusco's _name.

**Aww honey, don't cry,** I ruffle his hair and attempted to stop the leakage his eyes were creating.

**Please stop crying,** I plead, **Or I'll cry as well!** Wow, did that ever sound like a threat.

**I'm sorry, I didn't mean to threaten you, I just want you to stop crying.** Too late.

I can feel a fizzy substance running down my cheeks. There is an almost painful twinge tugging at the corners of my eyes.

**Now look what you've made me do!** For reasons unknown, he clearly finds this amusing; I can just about see his mouth curve into a blatant grin.

**It's not that funny,** I noted - rather peeved that he found my bawling funny. He's the one that started it!

Suddenly, there are a couple of light faeries flashing crudely outside my bedroom window (one red, one blue) accompanied by what I can only assume is a wailing badger that was recently hit by a car and now complaining of pancreas pain.

Another mad head rush ravages my skull when he quickly lifts me up with both arms.

That pain that started in my forehead spreads across my whole head as that damn wailing badger carries on with that ghastly noise.

He mutters at me some more, again I am unable to hear what he has to say.

His eyes are glowing crystal blue as the world around me fades to grey. His voice becomes stretchy and frightened. I can feel him shaking me again.

The grey turns darker and darker…

He's crying again, I can hear it now…

The darker it gets, the louder he seems to be yelling…

Blackness follows suit…

"**SAM! DON'T LEAVE ME…"**

* * *

_Oooh! Will Sam live and delight the DxS fans that are reading this? Or will she die, fulfilling the dreams of Danny fangirls everywhere?_

_You'll have to wait until Chapter 2!_

_BTW, I wrote this while under the influence so I know how strange the world is when drunk. I'll update soon, K?_

_-SS2K4_

_**P.S. For those of you who don't know, Lambrusco is a Californian red wine, Chardonnay is a French whitewine, and Bailey's isBristol cream Liquer.**_


	2. But Not Quite

_Previously on 'Almost Over'…_

_He mutters at me some more, again I am unable to hear what he has to say._

_His eyes are glowing crystal blue as the world around me fades to grey. His voice becomes stretchy and frightened. I can feel him shaking me again._

_The grey turns darker and darker…_

_He's crying again, I can hear it now…_

_The darker it gets, the louder he seems to be yelling…_

_Blackness follows suit…_

"SAM! DON'T LEAVE ME…"

…**But Not Quite**

It's been three hours.

Three agonising hours of waiting to hear something, anything, about Sam's condition.

This bland and sterile waiting room is where I have been for that time. A mother and her toddler sit a few chairs down from me. The small child has a saucepan lodged on his head and sobs madly while his mother cuddles him, trying to keep him calm until a doctor comes by.

A teenage girl, a few years older than me and clutching the right side of her face, sits impatiently waiting for the nurse to come back. A trickle of blood escapes through the gap between her pinkie and her ring finger. She sees me looking at her injury and tries to smile.

"Hi, I'm Kaira." She says, holding out a blood stained hand. I glance at the blooded digits and then at her.

"Um, my name's Danny." I don't want to appear rude by leaving her hanging, but the ruby juices on her palm frighten me a bit.

She eyes me up strangely, but soon catches on to why I'm not shaking her hand.

"Oh, knickers! Sorry, love." her raspy English voice apologises and her hand returns to guarding her damaged face. "What you in for?"

"Huh? Oh, my friend was brought in a few hours ago." My eyes start to tear up as I am reminded of the gory state I found her in. "What about you?"

"I got in a cat-fight with some slapper at a pub,"

Her obviously British accent threw me off slightly.

"You mean a bar, right?"

"Yeah, that's it; I forgot you Yanks have different slang than us Brits." She winced. "Either way I got slashed in the eye with a busted pint glass."

"And they haven't seen you yet?"

It was shocking that she hadn't already been seen to. She's been stabbed in the eye for crying out loud. Anyone with that kind of lesion would normally be examined first as a 'High-Priority'. Oddly enough, she doesn't appear to be in much pain, considering the extent of her wound.

"Ah, it's nothing; ever been to an Essex hospital?"

I shook my head.

"I were in a car crash ages ago and broke my ankle. I got to Broomfield General at about half eight and didn't get medical attention 'til three in the morning!"

Clearly she has been drinking. The pupil in her left eye, which is the only one I can see, has dilated, yet shows an expression of honest concern.

"So what happened to this mate of yours?"

Mate? Sam and I would never… Oh wait, she's using slang again. I assume that 'mate' translates to 'friend', although I can feel my cheeks burning slightly.

"I stopped by her house and she…"

The girl has a prying gleam in her eyes. She really wants to know. But just thinking about it hurts.

The way Sam was sat in a puddle of her own blood, surrounded by empty liquor bottles, completely intoxicated to the point where she couldn't really see or speak properly.

Sitting in the ambulance and looking down at her unnaturally pale face that contrasted so much with the crude, jagged red lines on her wrists.

Watching the paramedics place her on a stretcher and wheel her speedily down the emergency ward corridor.

The sound of my heart ripping in two when the double doors closed behind her, as the nurses denied me entrance to the E.R.

Tears flood my face and drip onto my shirt.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset ya."

"No, it's not you, it's-"

"Excuse me?"

I look up at the stern face of a Matt LeBlanc wannabe who is smartly dressed in a neat white doctor's uniform. My stomach threatens to implode by the dreaded news that awaits me.

"Y-yes?"

"You are the young man who brought in…" He pauses to glance at the blue clipboard in his large beefy hands. "…Miss Samantha Manson, correct?"

"Yes…"

My palms are glistening with nervous sweat. He raises an eyebrow at me and then at the girl I'd been speaking to before.

"May I speak with you for a moment?"

I nod. Slowly, I stand up and wave goodbye to the girl, who returned the gesture, once more baring her blood-soaked hand. The doctor leads me down a cold, sinister hallway. Anyone watching gave me a pitiful glance or shake of the head; it feels almost like _I'm _the one who hurt Sam, and am about to be severely punished.

He opens the door to a dark hospital room, where the only sounds are a few rhythmic beeps and a bizarre pump-squish noise. Suddenly the lights come on and my eyesight isn't so poor. Too bad the same can't be said for my nerves.

"Sam…"

"You did very well, Mister…?"

"My name is Danny," That's the second time today...

He continues to say random things at me that don't register in my ears. I'm frozen in place. Sam is quite literally fighting death. Pale and sickly, I barely recognise this frail being as one of the most spiritually strong people I've ever known.

She hasn't changed much since I was with her in the ambulance – except the blood has been cleaned up and now she has more wires sticking into her than one of Tucker's many frivolous electrical devices. My pulse is racing so quickly my arteries may very well blow up. I can feel the sweat roll down my cheeks.

I want to move closer to her, if only to see her sweet face again, but something stops me. A menagerie of emotions sabotages my system. Guilt; for not getting to her place earlier. Fear; for the painful revelation that I'll never see her shining violet eyes again if she passes away. Nervousness; because I don't think my heart can bear to see her so weak and helpless.

"…That Mr and Mrs Manson want to thank you personally."

Hang on, what?

I spun on my heel to see the Manson's. Both of them, not just smiling, but smiling directly at _me. _Not so long ago Sam's parents put a restraining order on me for an _incident _that made them think I was a bad influence; now Mrs Manson is giving me a hug and Mr Manson is beaming proudly.

"Oh, Daniel, thank you!" she wails. "Thank you so much for saving my darling Samantha!"

"But I-"

"Uh-uh, no nonsense Daniel, we owe you the very life of our only daughter." He offers a friendly handshake, which I anxiously accept.

I try to fake a believable smile for them, but soon my face falls. It's very assuring that Sam's parents think she will be OK. I however, am far more sceptical. Sure, she's alive – at the moment – but she's still not out of the woods yet. I refuse to get my hopes up until the doctor says that she's well enough to go home.

I should be relieved that the matter of how I got into her bedroom _on the second floor_ didn't come up, I imagine that they were just so thrilled that Sam wasn't... you know…

"If I may interject for a minute?" the doctor can almost sense that I want to be alone for a while. "I need to speak with you about some of the test results."

"Of course, Doctor," Mrs Manson sweetly answers, patting me on the head as the three of them leave the room.

I look over at Sam.

Nope, she's still unconscious.

Still covered in IV tubes, and harsh, red scratches that etch into her skin angrily. Still with closed eyes and a fragile aura.

I get a bit closer to her.

She hasn't died yet.

A plastic blue chair stares at me from her bedside, as if _telling_ me to sit there. The metal legs scrape noisily across the hospital linoleum when I fall into the bucket-seat.

I trail my fingertips up her left arm gently, so gently I can barely feel her tender flesh yet so close I can nearly feel tiny sparks shoot from her pores. I follow the ridge of her collarbone 'til my index finger caresses her jaw line. Then I notice a gauze patch on the nape of her neck.

Three smudged lines of crimson stain the white padded wound dressing.

This is unreal. Sam isn't a drinker, she doesn't cut, and she never comes to school looking like the type who abuses herself in this manner. So why is she doing this? She knows I will listen to her if she needs to vent these feelings.

I recall the blatant despair and confusion that stalked her face earlier.

It was a strange thing to see. My best friend drunk as a tanked up parrot and slurring like her tongue was swollen. At the time, I was distracted by the shallow pool of blood that I found her in, so I can honestly say that I barely noticed the fact she was wasted.

My hand hovers over hers, shaking like mad. I lower it gently, fearing that even the slightest touch will break her like a fragile glass rose.

Her lukewarm flesh feels virtually soothing. My jittery fingers are calmed when they enclose hers.

I'm so very tired.

My body begs to sleep; my mind is threatening me with thoughts of unspeakable terror to stay awake. So who am I supposed to listen to? I'll tell you shall I?

The only person, whose opinions truly matter to me, is the girl I promised myself that I'd always protect. And it is entirely my fault that she cannot speak them to me.

I lay my weary head next to her mutilated arm. The faint smell of plasma fills my senses and act as a scented lullaby that takes my consciousness away.

But before my essence surrenders, and the waking world loses me to an overwhelming system shutdown, I swear that the hand beneath my own is softly moving.

The inner peace that has eluded me all this time finally comes back.

And deep inside, true to my soul, I know…

* * *

So I'm ending it here... unless you want a third chapter.

I know you won't want another chapter, frankly, this one sux noodles... But hey, I was sober when this was written, so it won't be as bizarre as chappy 1. No flames plz, unless it contains CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.

Thanks.

BTW, the Kaira mention in this story has NOTHING to do with the Kaira in 'Perfect Enemy', got it?


	3. Going Away

_Previously on 'Almost Over'…_

_But before my essence surrenders, and the waking world loses me to an overwhelming system shutdown, I swear that the hand beneath my own is softly moving._

_The inner peace that has eluded me all this time finally comes back._

_And deep inside, true to my soul, I know…_

**Going Away…**

So here we are again.

Me in a hospital bed and him glued to my side like a little lost puppy.

Well, guard dog is more like it. He was there when I lost consciousness, and he's here now that I've woken up. Every time I've ever gotten into trouble - through my own fault or through _his_ - he's always been there to put things right.

It's like the Gods themselves are trying to keep us close to each other. But even the divine power of fate cannot prevail against the interjection of my parents. And while all has been forgiven between them and Danny, it won't stop them sending me away.

I watch him gently purr out soft snores. His cold breath caresses my knuckles and my spine tingles from the very sensation. I lift my free hand to ruffle his already messed up hair. He really needs to get a trim or something.

My mom came in a few minutes ago, Danny was still sound asleep. After the huge pandemonium she'd started about my best friend and his ghost-hunting parents, all that maternal nonsense finally went down the latrine - and all Danny had to do was save my life while they were out for the evening.

Her teal eyes observed him snoozing protectively near my arm with a certain appreciation. Her million-dollar smile soon dipped into a two cent frown, almost like she had some cataclysmic information that could change my life forever. It turns out, she did.

I relay the news in my mind, try to take it in. Try to understand what they hoped this would accomplish. But alas, I cannot truly comprehend how my mom and dad think; for once I can actually empathise with a conventional teenager.

Why are there so many IV's in my arm? I feel like a porcupine. A porcupine with a major hangover.

The short wisps of exhalation suddenly stop. Danny yawns and raises his head, limply turning it in my direction. Blue eyes, half-lidded and tired out, stare at me for a moment. A warm, dazzling smile gleams at me, only to be replaced with a pained grimace seconds later.

I know what he's going to say.

"Why?"

I decide to play dumb and pretend I don't know what he's talking about.

"Why, what Danny?"

"You know very well 'what'." A vague and distant scowl triggers my guilt.

I must've really scared him – he's never seen me in that state before, no one has.

"I won't lie to you Danny," I mumble. "So, I'll just start from the beginning."

Just when I was starting to get the feeling back in my fingers, he rests his head on my hand once more, peering up at me with a peculiar sadness. It's time to come clean.

"I've been sneaking alcohol from my Dad's liquor cabinet for a while…" I pull my hand out from under his chin in shame and tuck my knees into my chest, hugging them for all I'm worth.

"How long, Samantha?"

I know he's deadly serious. No one ever, _**ever** _calls me by my full name unless they want a kick in the teeth. An angry dark cerulean ring courses through the iris of his eyes.

"Not long after freshman year began…"

He's shaking his head at me; it's obvious he's disappointed. I can no longer look at him directly and focus my attention on the heart monitor to the left, where the readings are currently picking up speed.

"…Pressure from my parents to be 'girly' – when they were _home_ at least -, stress of schoolwork, and ghost attacks that kept me awake at night; it all added up to a great big fat migraine that I _really _didn't need."

Now Danny feels bad. A tiny simper escapes his throat.

"And that's when I saw it; that cute, antique redwood lacquered storage unit that my Dad stashed all his favourite intoxicants in. He only ever had a single glass of scotch once a week, which left many bottles of wine, spirits and Bristol creams just _waiting _to be consumed…" Thinking about what I had drunk makes me feel both sick and craving all at once. "I always had them replaced before my parents noticed."

"But Sam, I really don't get it – you've never been hung over at school or on the bus, or anywhere else for that matter." His sweet, innocent voice is cracking. And I know it's my fault. "Just tell me why you did it…"

I sense that he's not referring to the alcohol at this moment.

"I think we _both _know why I did it."

Glancing through the corner of my eye, I can see Danny glare at me, one eyebrow raised in what looks like confusion. So now he's playing dumb to get me to say it out loud. Great.

_Sigh…_

"I overheard Star and Paulina in the girl's room yesterday morning." I'll change my tone of voice to give him an idea of what they said. "…'She's such a skinny, flat-chested freak. No wonder she's always trying to be different, it's just a pathetic attempt to cover up that she knows how ugly she is…'."

Danny is aghast. The absolute contempt he feels is so strong I don't even need to look; it's radiating from him. Like some kind of demented aura of doom. Words cannot describe the exact shade of rage-filled green that devoured the blue when I finally look at him again.

I think back to what my mom said. I have to tell Danny the news.

"It doesn't even matter now; my mom and dad found out that I have a drinking problem. They're sending me away…" I don't want to continue, but he has to know the truth. "…I'll be gone for 6 months."

His body freezes and his face is marred by pure and sincere heartbreak The entire colour has faded from him. If this were a doujinshi, Danny would've turned black and white and have those weird blue venom lines rushing down his forehead. He'd probably face-fault too.

Maybe I shouldn't have told him.

No, it's too late for that. It's best that he hears it straight from me. And besides, he would've figured it out when Monday morning rolls around and I don't show up at school.

His somewhat clammy hand clasps my cheek and forces me to confront accusing, hurt-filled eyes. He's already crying an ocean of tears, that emotional barrier which most boys keep permanently up has been torn down by a knife-shaped wreaking ball. He frantically scans my expression, desperately searching for answers that simply aren't there.

Silence.

Danny breaks all physical contact and falls harshly to his knees. The tears never cease. All he does is sit there, stares into space and emits random stutters. I can't even begin to imagine what's going through his mind at this minute.

"So, in just _one_ day, you get verbally abused, drink yourself stupid and almost **die**? And your parents are _**punishing** _you for it?"

He's really frightening me now. I've never seen him so enraged, yet so destroyed, all at once. Why is he so upset? 6 months isn't long, is it? He's getting hysterical. I have to try and calm him down. I painfully pluck each IV needle from out of my skin and slip down from the bed to the cold hospital floor.

"Danny…?" I whisper. "What are you getting so upset about? 6 months will go like that." I click my fingers for emphasis.

"Sam, I almost lost you, _forever. _Death by suicide means that your ghost would be sealed up somewhere in the deepest depths of the forbidden area of the Ghost Zone. I'd never see you again, and you ask me what's wrong like it's no big deal!" He throws his shaking arms around me and cries into my chest. "When I flew to your house, I had a feeling that something was up, but I never expected to find you bleeding like a stuck pig! Your blood was on my _hands_, Sam, do you have any idea how it feels to have another person's blood on you? A million things bombard your mind; it clouds your judgement and makes you feel infinitely responsible for what has been spilt!"

I put my own arms around him; he's still shaking badly and still crying his eyes out. My hand gently tickles the nape of his neck, while the other rubs his back.

"Now, now, calm down," I coo softly. He sniffles like a child, clearly soothed but still wary. His face is turning a healthy shade of pink – he's probably embarrassed because I saw him cry, and the law of males dictates that men and boys cannot cry without risking accusations of being gay.

"Where are they sending you?"

"To my cousin in England, she's 21 and just getting over alcoholism herself." Saying it out loud actually made me realise why my parents want me to go there. "I suppose it'll be like rehab but without all the doctors and paparazzi waiting to dish the dirt. Not to mention the bonus of being miles away from my parents."

I heard Danny utter a small laugh.

Again, silence.

I can see him frown. My parents wouldn't be the only thing I'd be miles away from…

"You know I'm gonna miss you, right?" I bury my face in his lush black hair and smile.

"I still don't want you to go," His crystal blue eyes pierce my heart. "But, yeah, I'll miss you too."

I hate when he looks at me this way. I simply cannot say no to those sweet puppy dog eyes – and he damn well _knows_ it too! Makes me feel guilty for leaving, I don't want to go any more than he does, but if I'm going to get over this stage in my life then it's something I have to do.

We just sit here. No more was said about drinking problems or going away for half a year. We simply hold each other close on the cold linoleum floor, with nothing but the faint beep of a heart monitor breaking the silence…

**End**

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If, for whatever reason,you enjoyed reading this fic, do not fret, for I am working on a sequel to it as we speak.

Thanks for reading and reviewing and I hope you enjoyed it!

SS2K4


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